Milk with that Coffee
by DarkHiems-hime
Summary: Short series of semiplotless oneshots/drabbles, most featuring Ed/Winry. Better explained inside. Check the first few to get an idea, please :) :: Chapter 3 :: The person that exited the shop could not be real. This person could not exist here. This person had died in this world. :: R&R!
1. The End

I've an attention deficit disorder towards most fandoms that really doesn't allow me to stay focused on one long enough to just sit down and write a full story with a decent plot and good character development.

As such, I write down a few ideas and post them in a collection of these "extended drabbles"/"short oneshots" if you will.

Hope you enjoy it and if you do, please leave me a review!

"..." is speech.

 _Italics_ is thoughts.

* * *

 **Key-word:** Omnipotent  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Genre:** General  
 **Verse:** Valid to both  
 **Warnings:** None.  
 **Summary:** Such moments caused Truth to give in. Just this once.

* * *

ººº **The end** ººº

Sins were simply so overrated.

There was just so much _fun_ in observing all the little ants, running around and preaching about them and defining right and wrong and how they were the ones on the right path to salvation.

Honestly, humans were so laughable.

That was one of the reasons why Truth preferred irrational living beings. Simple life forms, they knew no right or wrong, they simply did and lived and all was the flow of life and natural selection and survival of the fittest.

But humans liked to play about such things. They were aware, they were rational, so they searched and researched, discovered and rediscovered theories and hypothesis and studied and dissected and experimented.

Sometimes, It was annoyed that they were born so curious like that. It was bothersome and irksome and while others were simply curious while younglings, humans were **_always_** asking questions, and the whiny _Why? Why, but why?_ grew boring after the first half a dozen.

However, simple also ended up being rather boring. Which brought Truth back to the humans, of course.

Their consciousness of imminent death, of the ephemeral moments that were each individual ribbon of their lives loomed over their heads like a dark, full cloud, never straying too far. They questioned their existence, how they came to be, how Life appeared, why they were alive and it was amusing.

Which brought them back to the matter of Salvation.

 _Will I see my family from Heaven?_

 _Have I sinned so much?_

 _Please, just a few more seconds! I haven't lived enough, it's not my time!_

Truth lost count on how many times It had heard this. And it was still pitiful every. Single. Time. Again. And again.

In fact, Truth remembered of only a handful of them interesting enough to be remembered.

One was doubtlessly the human named Hikari no Hoheinheim.

Ironically enough, another one was his offspring. Oh, _that_ one.

Annoying, that he was. Very much. Asking for his mother the first time around as if that was the natural flow of things, then shouting desperately for his brother and finally demanding to take back what they had paid in return for a beautiful portion of knowledge.

Truth would have rolled its eyes, if it had such limiting things. It **_was_** equivalent exchange no matter what they said. It's not like either could give that knowledge back or teach _It_ something new themselves.

But there were moments… curious moments in their – namely his – remarkably filled short, short lives that stuck out.

Not many, true and so, so fleeting it was ridiculous.

But such moments caused Truth to give in.

Just this once.

Equivalent exchange was omnipotent. And this soul had already suffered and been tortured as if it counted for thousands.


	2. Heart of Automail

"..." is speech.

 _Italics_ is thoughts. **  
**

* * *

 **Key-word:** Silly  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Genre:** General  
 **Verse:** Conquest of Shambala  
 **Warnings:** Uh, tears?  
 **Summary:** A heart of automail. Can you make one?

* * *

ººº **Heart of Automail** ººº

A heart of automail.

Can you make one?

Would it also repair any defect as heart murmurs and failure in valves in the ventricles? In theory, yes.

Would it also work like an extended limb? Would the artificial cardiac myocytes work in a perfect sync with each other to generate the electrical impulses that control the heart rate, the movements of diastole and systole? After all, a perfect artificial pacemaker has been done and successfully implanted, it would just be some more tissue to be replaced around it working as a steady, never-stopping pump with four chambers and valves.

However, could the metal be strong enough to serve as the aorta, withhold the astounding pressure and still being flexible enough as the strongest artery in the human body should be? Perhaps. It was a matter of finding the perfect alloy that would combine all those characteristics and still be viable to work _in vivo_.

Would the body truly accept the metal inside it? Would the immune system find it as a foreign object and attack it? They shouldn't, that part was the biggest secret automail engineers held, the fact that the rejection response of a client was rather low, for the most part.

All in all, Winry wondered if it would erase the feeling of heartache.

Not a real ache. That painless ache. That pain that is not real pain, almost like a ghost limb. It is still there, you feel it, you must acknowledge it, but there is nothing you can do to stop it. It's so deep, so raw that it makes you cry out and want to lash out and yell and go up to your room and trash the place, because then, your hands are occupied and your mind is blank, your eyes are only assessing the damage and your nerves are ordering your limbs to do more and more and it feels good.

Even for a short little while.

 _Wishful thinking, that it would last, Winry. Silly, silly girl._

Now, in her mostly destroyed room, the blond late teenaged young woman lied on her back, arms and legs spread-eagled. Her breathing was harsh, followed by one or two coughs because of the dust flying around. Her eyes were staring at the ceiling, following the thin lines of the cracking stone underneath, proof the house wasn't as young as it looked sometimes. It was a customary activity, one she did many times when a victim of insomnia.

Which wasn't as rare for her as one might think.

That is also why her clients were so pleased with her, with her ability to stay up indefinitely until a project was finished. She was determined like that. She just didn't tell them that sometimes, even if she wished to rest, she spent hours just turning in her own sheets.

Suddenly, a memory assaulted her. Of her, in just this position, but several years younger. It was cold back then, very cold, it had just snowed. There was an Elric brother on each side of her, Al on her left and Ed on her right. Their heads had been positioned so that they converged, in order to be close enough, but have enough space to do what they were about to do.

 _"_ _Ready, Winry, nii-san?"_ Al's young and excited voice piped up.

 _"_ _Of course!"_ came the reply from the other boy, still young and innocent, careless. Like a child, a true child.

Winry giggled at the time. _"Yes!"_ and the three of them moved arms and legs to create perfect snow angels.

 _"_ _HA! Mine's better!"_

 _"_ _No, mine is!"_

 _"_ _No, wait!"_ Edward's blazing golden eyes suddenly locked with hers and she started. Her younger self blushed prettily then. She knew not of her feelings for him at such a naive age, but his eyes had always startled her with their exotic nature ever since she could remember. _"Nah. Actually, I think Win's is the best."_

 _"_ _Oh! You're right!"_

The three young laughing voices faded from her mind as Winry slowly returned to the present as if she was waking up from a dream. Her eyes reopened. It was with little surprise that she felt tears in them. Absently, as if to retain the happy, warm feeling of that precious, important memory, her own arms and legs moved, pushing away clothes and sheets and tools and spare parts all around.

And she laughed. And she cried at the same time.

Winry, aged 19 and with a brilliant future as an automail engineer, was making invisible snow angels in her demolished room and wishing one Edward Elric had not been foolish enough to give up on his own existence – his life, his body, his alchemy, his everything – to return his little brother's body.

 _He also gave up on you, you know._ A little voice also whispered, one who awfully reminded her of Scar and it made her shudder, pulling her knees up to her chest. _Means to an end. That's all the limbs you made him were. All so he could still perform alchemy and become a State Alchemist. So he could search for that dreadful stone. So that Alphonse could have a body again. That and only that. Don't elude yourself._

Yes. Yes, that was right. She smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes while sitting up, her legs tucked underneath her. She ironically called it her automail smile. Her soft blue eyes, more of a slate colour than the brilliant sapphire they usually were now, took in the mess all around her.

It was the second time just this week.

Winry liked doing it. While she did it, she could channel her anger and sadness and frustration all in simple motions: kick, smash, throw, crumple, break, scream. Primal and nearly automatic reactions her body could perform without her brain needing to give complex orders. There was no need to think and remind herself of what she had lost.

It was how she rested nowadays, without the proper satisfaction of sleep.

Not without his face – those eyes of his, how they haunted her... – appearing in her dreams at least.

Then, after she tired herself out, Winry would pick it all up, like a ritual. She would salvage what she could, place everything back in order and in its rightful place. It soothed her. Like she was cleaning up her messy, messy mind and understanding everything.

Except that she didn't understand.

There was only one single rule she followed: before everything, every single photo frame or random picture would be put face-down. While in her blind fury, she did not wish to see happy smiles and good times. Yet, she could not bring herself to ruin the frames and stain those elated times with sharp glass shards.

But still, Winry did not understand.

Didn't understand why or how he could have left them all behind. She didn't understand how Ed – her Ed – expected her to live like this. How he expected Al to live like this.

She never was talented for alchemy either, couldn't understand it all. But even worse than that, Winry could never understand the concept of equivalent trade.

Was her and Al's suffering equivalent to Ed's leaving? Then shouldn't he return to make it right? You paid a toll and gained something, right? What did they gain? Sadness, numbness? This emptiness?

How could someone call it equivalent?

As much as it shamed her to admit, she believed the short visits the Elric brothers to Resembool were happier times than this, even if young Al was only a soul trapped in a large, dysfunctional metal armour, even if Ed was drowning in his own guilt and obsessed with his self-appointed quest. At least then, _she_ was a bit happier.

 _Shame on you, Rockbell._

Deep within her, she felt another dull ache. Her right hand came up and clutched the skin just above her unsteady heartbeat. It was shaking.

Another piece broke, she knew.

With great effort, she managed to control the frenetic rhythm, to calm herself down enough to allow for rational thought. Her hands reached out with a mind of their own, and restarted organizing clothes and tools and everything thrown into the wooden floor once again.

Not on their rightful places though. All around her. In a circle. A familiar one. One of the most simple ones. A circle within a circle. Then a triangle within the smallest. And another, larger one.

Placing another one of her lifeless smiles, she rested her hands on the items making up the 'transmutation circle'. Of course that nothing happened. Still, she imagined that she was a strong enough alchemist and that she had enough knowledge to bring him back.

Back home.

Back to Al.

Back to her.

A tear fell on top of a random spare part, landing right on a screw's head. It stayed there, like a perfect droplet. _Yes. I'd be the Automail Alchemist. Wouldn't that sound cool? Everyone would expect some burly guy with several automail parts and not a beautiful, genius engineer like me. Like when they confuse Al with-_

Winry gasped, bringing both her hands to her mouth, eyes wide.

No.

 _Wake up. Welcome to reality, silly girl._

No, it was no longer like that. Al's soul was no longer within a suit of empty metal. And Edward was no longer in their world.

And Al.

How could she be so selfish?

 _He's taking it the hardest, you know_ , that voice came back once again. _Ed is his older brother. They went through a lot of things together. And they had always been close. You are just his mechanic. He wouldn't even have told you a thing of his wandering if he hadn't needed his automail in perfect shape for his dangerous missions. Just as Al was everything to Ed, Ed is everything to Al as well. You're the third wheel here, remember that._

Silly, silly girl.


	3. Mirror

"..." is speech.

 _Italics_ is thoughts.

* * *

 **Key-word:** Double  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Genre:** General  
 **Verse:** pre-Conquest of Shambala  
 **Warnings:** Distorted reality, because I say so.  
 **Summary:** The person that exited the shop could not be real. This person could not exist here. This person had _died_ in this world.

* * *

ººº **Mirror** ººº

When he saw her, Edward froze.

Her hair was about the same length as his, which was weird, but the colour was the exact same tinge. Her bangs half covered her breathtaking, almost too blue eyes in the exact same way. Her height and looks, pale and perfect as always, were all the same.

And yet, it was not her.

She would not wear those heels, small and modest as they were ("They're not practical!" she'd exclaim). She would not wear a petite pochette dangling from a slender shoulder ("What can I carry in there besides my wrench that won't take the whole space?" she'd add jokingly). She would not wear rings in her strong fingers ("Please, I work with my hands, I need all my fingers free!" she would huff). She would not wear such an elegant jacket ("Oil and grease are a constant," she would laugh and wave it away, "I'd ruin it.").

Which is why Edward knew this was not Winry Rockbell.

This was Winry Rockbell's doppelganger.

This young, beautiful woman had just exited a cosy café, one he had intended to enter, but now hesitated, mere meters away. The cool atmosphere of Munich quickly turned her cheeks and the tip of her small nose pink and she lifted a casual, gloved hand to rub it absently, her eyes trailing along the sidewalk. There was a bright grin dancing upon her bow-shaped lips and Ed was immediately, painfully, reminded of his Winry.

So alike.

So far away.

 _Is Winry even her name?_

The door to the small coffee shop opened again, "Oye!"

And again, Ed froze. Even more, if it was possible.

 _No. No, this can't be. Something's wrong, this is wrong!_

The person that exited the shop could not be real. This person could not exist here. This person had _died_ in this world.

And yet, Edward's own mirror image was right there, letting the door close behind him, then adjusting the high collar of the long coat he wore. The young man descended the first step and draped his right arm over the Winry-lookalike's shoulders, then they both fell into a comfortable, synchronized and unhurried pace with her burrowing more into his side for extra warmth.

"...were very brave, saying that to my father's face!" she was saying quietly while walking in his direction, her happy smile never leaving her expression.

Her words tugged a familiar grin onto his double's own mouth and he chuckled. "I guess. It was about time, wasn't it?" It was at that moment that he looked up and his eyes locked with Edward's.

Time seemed to slow down for a moment there as they looked at each other with eerily similar expressions, but neither said a word.

And then the couple went past him and the gaze was broken. Questions went unanswered.

Edward took a shaky breath and forced himself to take a step forward.

He was so sure his double had died back in that accident with the zeppling, which was pretty much his fault, really. Was he wrong? Did he underestimate his own self in this world?

Who knew. But what Ed knew was that this doppelganger, if this new theory really was true, was the luckiest bastard in this world.

 _Escape certain death and claim Win- the Winry lookalike?_ An ironic smile was on his lips. _Guess he snuffed all my luck to himself too..._

"Eduardo?"

The sound of her soft voice calling him made him turn back around and away from that curious man that looked terribly alike him. So much he'd swear it was his twin if he didn't know he was an only child. Really, the main difference was the hair length; his was just a couple of inches long.

Even the eyes were the same. _How odd._

He glanced back at the beautiful lady beside him, who had an eyebrow lifted in question, "Sorry, I was just lost in thought for a moment back there."

Her lower lip jutted out some. "Don't ignore me. At least warn me so that I don't look silly talking to your shoulder or something."

Eduardo smiled softly at her whiny tone. "As if you're not cute when you look silly, Vilhelmina."

The twinkling quality of her laugh was music to his ears and once again, he congratulated himself for mustering up the courage of courting her and facing her father in order to be able to so. Someone, somewhere, must think he was worthy of such luck and honour.


End file.
